


wear your heart on your cheek (but never on your sleeve)

by fairylock



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Drunken Shenanigans, F/F, Female Katsuki Yuuri, Female Victor Nikiforov, Fluff and Humor, Genderbending, aka the banquet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-25 11:07:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22495075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairylock/pseuds/fairylock
Summary: Yuuri would rather be anywhere but the banquet. She had even tried faking a cough and fever, but her coach wasn’t having any of it.or: the banquet, but with lesbians!
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Comments: 3
Kudos: 61





	wear your heart on your cheek (but never on your sleeve)

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written in years but have found myself back into YoI like it's 2016 again...this idea popped into my head so here we are LOL. I'm not really sure what this is tbh. And I know this isn't the correct order of events but it worked out better this way, oops. My writing's also kind of rusty (and this is my first time writing YoI) but I still hope you all like this anyway haha. I'm thinking of making this into a series but we'll see. Enjoy!

Yuuri would rather be anywhere but the banquet. She had even tried faking a cough and fever, but her coach wasn’t having any of it. Celestina just clasped a hand onto her shoulder and told her to let loose, and forget about everything. Yuuri had kept in a snort at that. Forget about completely fucking up her free skate due to the death of her dog and coming in last at the Grand Prix Final? Sure, maybe if she has some alcohol in her.

So that’s where Yuuri’s heading now: the drinks table. She adjusts her glasses from where they’re slipping on her nose and grabs a flute of champagne. She tips it back and drowns it. Then another. And another. And another. And another.

Yuuri’s not the ‘cry herself to sleep and stew in her failures’ drunk (she does that without the help of any alcohol), but she doesn’t think the reality is any better. She goes off the rails just like her Kyushu-born-and-bred father. She’s been told multiple times about how much of a (slutty, Phichit’s voice says in her head) disaster she is. 

She clears her throat quietly and turns around to face the crowd of skaters and sponsors before her. Her eyes (always, always, always) immediately find a head of long silver hair, and she keeps back a sigh.

Viktoria Nikiforova. Yuuri being a fan of hers is no secret. She has posters all over her room she’ll deny, if asked, but her admiration for the older skater is something that’s been with her ever since she was twelve. Yuuri’s always wanted to skate on the same ice as her, and now that she has...

She blew it. She fucking blew it. Her one chance to skate with Viktoria, to prove that she was more than just a dime-a-dozen Japanese figure skater...and she blew it. She wasn’t anywhere even close to the podium. She can’t go back after this, can she? There’s really no coming back from a failure like this.

Yuuri runs a hand through her messy black hair, grimacing as her fingers get caught on the curls. She’s drunk, upset, and Viktoria Nikiforova looks as gorgeous as ever in her navy blue dress that Yuuri’s just going to place the blame on all the champagne currently in her stomach for what she’s about to do.

Straightening her shoulders, she marches her way over to Viktoria, who she now sees is talking in hushed tones to a scowling Yuri Plisetskaya. The one who kicked her bathroom stall door open when she was crying over her loss (her multiple losses, a voice in her head adds, as if she needed to be reminded) and told her there wasn’t any room for two Yuris in the women’s skating circuit.

No matter. It’s not like she’ll remember this in the morning, anyway.

“Dance with me?” She’s pretty sure she asks Viktoria in slurred English, extending her hand. From the way Viktoria suddenly stops talking to stare at her, maybe she had actually asked in Japanese instead. She opens her mouth to ask again, but Viktoria grabs her hand, surprise in her ice blue eyes as Yuri Plisetskaya starts arguing in Russian, a permanent frown on her face.

If you had told twelve year old Yuuri she would be leading Viktoria Nikiforova in a waltz, she would’ve laughed and called you a liar. Twenty-two year old Yuuri still isn’t really sure this is happening, the reality of what she had just done hitting her like how she had hit the ice multiple times during her free skate. (She has to at least have  _ some _ humor to cope with her crippling loss, right?)

“Yuuri Katsuki, yes?” The way Viktoria murmurs her name should be illegal, and Yuuri really can’t help the way her breath catches in her throat as she nods, unable to say anything else. There’s a sparkle in Viktoria’s eyes that makes Yuuri want to lean up and kiss her. Given drunk Yuuri’s track record she might end up doing that later, but for right now she thinks she’s content to just watch the expressions that flit across Viktoria’s face as they dance around the room.

“You’re good,” Viktoria brings up, nodding towards the way their feet (both encased in high heels; Yuuri’s honestly wondering how she hasn’t stepped on Viktoria yet with how unsteady she feels) are moving smoothly across the floor.

Yuuri manages what she hopes is a grin. “I’m trained in dance.” She mentally sends up a thank you to Minako-sensei and her insistence on teaching Yuuri more than just ballet when she was a child.

“Beautiful,” Viktoria whispers, and Yuuri swears she imagined it, because why would Viktoria Nikiforova of all people call her - a dime-a-dozen Japanese figure skater, not special, plain glasses-wearing Katsuki Yuuri - beautiful?

Yuuri feels her face heat up in a blush and blames it on the champagne. Maybe she should go get another glass.

The music ends all too soon for Yuuri’s liking, and she wants to ask Viktoria for another dance, but the older woman already has a sheen of sweat over her face. Yuuri’s eyes follow a bead that slips down Viktoria’s neck to her collarbones and into the cleavage of her dress and Yuuri swallows. Shit.

“Another?” is what comes out of her goddamn drunken mouth anyway. 

A surprised laugh startles out of Viktoria as she lifts a hand to brush her silver hair out of her eyes. “Another? Hah, you’ve quite the stamina, Yuuri.” The way she drags the vowels in her name make Yuuri weak in the knees, and Yuuri is about to retort with a slightly inappropriate comment about showing Viktoria just  _ how much _ stamina she really has, when Yuri Plisetskaya storms up to them and grabs onto Viktoria’s arm, growling in Russian. Yuuri wonders if the teen has ever smiled in her life. Or even talked in a tone that’s anywhere near kind. She doesn’t think so.

“Hey, Yuri,” Yuuri starts, tilting her head as it starts to spin with the sudden aggressive Russian language swirling around her ears. Or maybe that’s just the alcohol finally catching up to her. Huh. “How about a dance-off?”

This is why drunk Yuuri deserves no rights. She challenges fucking Russian punks that scream at her to retire to dance offs.

“Hah?!” Yuri’s red face currently matches her dress, which makes Yuuri realize that, oh, right. Is it possible for them to have a dance-off in these dresses?

“A dance-off,” Yuuri explains. “Where you—”

“I know what a dance-off is, asshole!” Yuri bites out in English. “Fine. I’ll wipe the floor with you, Katsuki,” she hisses. “Then you really will realize that there’s only room for one Yuri.”

Yuuri raises an eyebrow. The little punk seriously is underestimating her. She smiles. This will be fun.

Viktoria laughs, a sound that makes Yuuri’s heart pound loud and fast in her chest. “I’ll be the judge, if you want,” she offers.

Yuri pulls her hair up into a ponytail, eyes narrowed. “Not a chance, hag. You’re biased.”

Viktoria’s eyes widen innocently as she points at herself. “Me? Biased?”

Yuuri lets out a giggle, and immediately claps her hand to her mouth as she can’t  _ believe _ that sound had just escaped her. Fuck. Drunk Yuuri around Viktoria Nikiforova deserves no rights at all.

A soft, fucking heart-shaped smile forms on Viktoria’s face and Yuuri swallows. As if dancing with Viktoria hadn’t been her end, Yuuri thinks she sure as hell is done for now.

  
  
-

Yuuri doesn’t know how she ended up pole-dancing with Christine Giacometti and taking her dress off, only wearing her bra and a pair of boyshorts, but well. Here she is.

Her body’s wet and sticky with champagne and sweat and she can’t take her eyes off of the way Viktoria is staring at her. She’s well aware of the multiple phones trained on her and Christine, and she’d normally be a blushing, stuttering mess that would’ve bolted back to her hotel room, but drunk Yuuri has a reputation for a reason. She just dreads how Celestina is going to react to this...mess. But she feels sore in a pleasant way, if that makes sense, the workout from using the pole something she hasn’t experienced in forever.

(She reluctantly thanks Phichit for making her take that pole-dancing class the first year they had met.)

She tells herself this is why she makes her way over to Viktoria, dress thrown back on haphazardly, immediately throwing her arms around her and giggling. “Hey, Viktoria,” she smiles up at the woman, whose hair had gotten disheveled from all the dancing (she’d ended up joining the Yuri-squared dance off - which Yuuri had won, of course, causing Yuri to go into a corner to sulk and pout), and Yuuri thinks she wouldn’t mind staring into her eyes forever. It’s the ultimate cliche, but they really are like an endless ocean.

“Since I won the dance off...” she mumbles, tracing along Viktoria’s collarbone with her finger and enjoying the goosebumps that form on the woman’s skin in retaliation. “My family runs a hot springs resort in Japan,” she continues, a startled noise escaping her at how Viktoria’s arms loop around her waist to keep her stable. Ah. “I - since I won, won’t, won’t you...come to Hasetsu,” she blurts. God, why is English so hard? “Come to Hasetsu and be my coach, Viktoria!” she exclaims, tightening her grip around the skater. “Be my coach, please,” she whispers, burying her face into Viktoria’s chest.

She misses the way Viktoria’s eyes widen in shock and brighten, the way her face flushes. 

Yuuri knows it’s unlikely she’ll remember any of this later, but the feeling of Viktoria’s body pressed against hers is something she doesn’t want to ever forget. 

  
  
-

A year later, Yuuri skates to Viktoria’s  _ Stay Close to Me _ and goes viral. A day later, Viktoria Nikiforova shows up at the onsen and Yuuri’s glasses fog up as Viktoria stands up out of the water completely ( _ completely _ ) naked and declares that she’ll coach Yuuri through this next skating season.

Yuuri’s pretty sure her scream is heard throughout not just Hasetsu but all of Japan.

  
  
  



End file.
